


Your Soul Grows Sick

by scarletjedi



Series: quiobi week 17 [4]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, QuiObi Week 2017, consider this an au of Radical Stimulus if you want, sith!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.” - Oscar Wilde





	Your Soul Grows Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Hobbitystmarymorstan and Markwatnae for their help with this fic!
> 
> Written for QuiObi week day 4, Sith AU.

* * *

_Seething red crackled, taunting. Pulse beat heavy in his ears. Throat raw and chest heaving._

_The Zabrak Sith paced before him, teeth bared, as Qui-Gon’s body lay slumped where he fell._

_Obi-Wan sprang the moment the shields were lowered._

_The edges of his vision darkened, tunneling in the maelstrom that raged at the edges of his senses. It called to him, and the closer he danced, the more the pains of his body faded. The exhaustion that burned, the adrenaline that shook—all as vapor to the flow of that power._

_Yet always, Obi-Wan danced away from that edge, skirting the line but never crossing. It held, tenuous, as he spun and parried._

_A twitch of presence and sudden fading, and Obi-Wan was distracted just long enough to get kicked in the face. He staggered back and fell, tripping over the edge down into the pit._

_Reaching out in desperation, he caught himself, slamming heavily into the wall as he watched his lightsaber fall past. He was powerless._

_The Sith paced, swinging the blades of his lightstaff and sending showers of sparks down into Obi-Wan’s face._

_But as dark as the Sith was, Obi-Wan had faced worse odds. The Force was his ally, when he was calm._

_Obi-Wan closed his eyes and reached for the light—_

_—and opened his eyes to see the surprise on the Sith’s face as he fell backwards, split cleanly in two. It was just as well that the body would be incinerated. Obi-Wan had enough without worrying about the council questioning his use of that forbidden strike._

_Yet all worries paled to the fear that gripped him as he dropped to Qui-Gon’s side._

_His master was still alive, but only just, his skin too cold and his breathing shallow, and Obi-Wan could feel that yawning despair beneath him, threatening to swallow him into the torrent that still beat against his mind. Hands shaking, Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon’s head into his lap, his mouth whispering it’s denials as he brushed hair from Qui-Gon’s face._

_Qui-Gon opened his eyes, already far-seeing as he begged Obi-Wan to train Anakin (as if Obi-Wan was ever capable of leaving people behind. As if Obi-Wan wouldn’t go to the ends of the galaxy to protect that which Qui-Gon held dear). Obi-Wan swallowed, choking on his grief as he agreed to anything, master, yes, of course._

_Then Qui-Gon’s eyes focused on his, his hand lifting to touch his fingers to Obi-Wan’s cheek, brushing against his skin so tender and gentle—and Obi-Wan felt the depth of love from the man that lay cradled in his arms, and heard, so very faintly:_

_“...last look...beautiful eyes...my love...”_

_And Obi-Wan howled deep inside, the prospect of losing this man far too much to bear, not now, not when he finally_ had _him. Obi-Wan had grown too..._

_...Attached._

_Gasping around his tears, Obi-Wan reached for the storm._

* * *

Qui-Gon woke to quiet, an eerie stillness that he couldn’t immediately place. He heard the buzzing of insects and singing birds of spring. He heard the low hum of activity around him: the whisper of cloth, soft footfalls, quiet breathing. It was peaceful. 

It set Qui-Gon’s teeth on edge. 

The door to his rooms opened, and Qui-Gon looked up, expecting to see his Padawan, or barring that, a nurse, and was taken aback by seeing Mace Windu, face grave. 

Qui-Gon’s heartbeat stuttered, his eyes widening. It was Obi-Wan that was missing; the electric presence in his mind that kept them tethered together was still. He paled, dramatically enough to break Mace’s expression, and the other master sprang forward to help ease Qui-Gon back to the bed. 

“Easy,” Mace said. “You’ve suffered a major trauma. You’re not even supposed to be awake yet.”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon gasped. “Mace, please—is he—?”

“Shh,” Mace said. “Rest.” 

Qui-Gon struggled, but his eyes slid shut.

* * *

The next time Qui-Gon opened his eyes, it was night. The strange stillness was still there, and Qui-Gon picked at it like a sore tooth. 

The bond wasn’t severed, just—shut. Someone had placed a block. Hopefully, it was Obi-Wan himself who had placed the block, and not someone trying to protect Qui-Gon from a severed end.

In the shadows to his right, there was a soft sound, and he looked. 

There, outlined in moonlight, was Obi-Wan. 

Qui-Gon smiled, relief filling him. “There you are,” he said, hoarse and reedy. “Why can’t I feel you?” 

Obi-Wan smiled, and ran the back of his fingers down Qui-Gon’s cheek, mirroring what Qui-Gon had thought would be his last actions in this realm. He turned his head blindly towards that touch, watching the golden light reflect in Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

“Yoda placed a block,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s temporary, but they felt it best if we were separate.” 

Obi-Wan’s words processed like cold molasses, and Qui-Gon pressed a soft kiss to those beloved fingers as he thought. “I was dying,” he said into Obi-Wan’s skin.

Qui-Gon felt more than heard the hitch in Obi-Wan’s breathing. “You were dead,” he said, low and fierce, his bright flame. “Then you were not. I fed you Force energy until your wounds began to heal and your breath was your own.” 

Qui-Gon blinked. There were drugs in his system, and he was foggy enough that he couldn’t filter them. He was missing something, something important that would make this all make sense. “Was that why they separated us? To keep you from draining yourself into me?” It would be just like his Padawan; far too selfless.

“No.” Obi-Wan shook his head gently, running the pad of his thumb over Qui-Gon’s lower lip. It left a tingling in it’s wake and Qui-Gon mouth felt so very dry. “I wasn’t using my own reserves.” Qui-Gon felt a question there, but Obi-Wan smiled before it could form. Obi-Wan had such an intoxicating smile. “I am so very happy that it worked. I’ve grown rather fond of you, and there’s no point in saving you if I’m not here to enjoy it.” 

It sounded like the Lovers words from those serial operas that Obi-Wan loved to watch in their rare down time. All of this, the moonlight, the gentle touches—Qui-Gon felt flushed, heat rising in his face. For some reason, that made Obi-Wan smile wider. 

“I’m feeling much better,” Qui-Gon said, and ignored Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrow that clearly said _liar_. “We can tell Yoda to remove the block. I need to feel you.” 

The smile fell away, Obi-Wan’s hand with it, and Qui-Gon felt cold. Bereft. “We can’t.” He shook his head. “Rather, _he_ won’t, not as things stand now.” Obi-Wan licked his lip, and pressed closer once more, cupping Qui-Gon’s cheek with his hand and leaning in close, but not nearly close enough. “I need to feel you, too, Qui, but it’s too soon. You need your strength.” 

That wasn’t why, though undoubtedly true. Obi-Wan had taken to diplomatic doublespeak like a duck to water, and his abilities rivaled, if not exceeded, Qui-Gon’s own. But Obi-Wan could never truly hide from him. That wasn’t the main reason. 

Qui-Gon blinked slowly. Everything felt heavy. He was so tired. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

Obi-Wan smiled softly. “Soon, love. Rest now. Grow strong. For me.” 

Qui-Gon fought it, but his eyes closed anyway. He was asleep in minutes.

* * *

Qui-Gon was rather sick of opening his eyes to large gaps of time, but when he saw little Ani balancing a tray of food, real food, as he entered the room, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he focused on not spilling—Qui-Gon couldn’t muster the energy to be truly annoyed. Settling the tray on the table next to Qui-Gon, Anakin grinned, showing his cheeks still full with baby fat. 

“You’re awake! They said you would be,” he chirped, and Qui-Gon smiled. 

“Good Morning, Ani. How do you fare?” 

“Good,” Anakin said, and began chattering away as he separated out the foods on the tray. Qui-Gon tried to pay better attention, truly, but his focus slipped with every third word, and he simply nodded along with the unfamiliar cadence of a Rim World accent. Anakin laid out tea, clear broth, and soft bread for Qui-Gon and an assortment of cheese and fruit and sweet bread with a tall glass of lavender milk for himself. Good. Qui-Gon doubted that Anakin ever had access to sufficient food for a growing boy, no matter how hard he was sure Shmi had tried. 

Anakin told him about being in the fighter, and then finding himself blasting off into space to destroy the droid control ship. “I didn’t leave the cockpit, just like you said!” he insisted, and Qui-Gon was torn between laughter and concern. Laughter, because that semantical mind would serve Anakin well as one of his line, but Qui-Gon had learned the hard way how much trouble a padawan could get into with such thinking. 

Either way, Anakin barreled right past, however, to tell him how scared he had been when he landed and Qui-Gon had been injured and wasn’t waking up, and how he missed Obi-Wan now that he was gone, but Padme was _wizard_ —

Raising a hand, Qui-Gon frowned. “Wait, Ani. What do you mean, Obi-Wan is gone?” 

Anakin chewed his lip, eyes round. “Nobody talks to _me_ about it,” he said, slowly. “But people don’t always notice me if I don’t want them to.” Meaning, of course, that Anakin had snooped.

Looking down, he continued: “But Obi did something that he wasn’t supposed to—something Master Mace and Master Yoda didn’t expect. They looked like this,” Anakin screwed his face up, capturing Mace’s exaggerated frown perfectly. Then he shrugged with the casual unconcern of a child who was trying, and failing, to brush off disappointment. “As soon as they showed up, Obi-Wan disappeared—poof!” Anakin spread his hands, and then lowered them slowly. “They said what he did to heal you was impossible, ‘nd that they’d never expect him of falling.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what that means to a Jedi.” Anakin wrung his hands. “But it doesn’t sound good.” 

Falling. 

_Falling_. 

Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s peculiar turn of phrase made so much more sense—as did the block in his mind. Aside from death or knighting, training bonds could only be severed by a third party if it was weak, and there was no way the bond Qui-Gon shared with Obi-Wan was _weak._ They must have placed the block to keep Qui-Gon from falling too, from being pulled down in Obi-Wan’s wake—

Until, of course, Qui-Gon was strong enough to withstand the Dark long enough to dismantle his end of the bond. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. First Xanatos, then Obi-Wan. Perhaps there _was_ something broken in Qui-Gon, after all. Oh, the hubris, to think that he could be the one to train the Chosen One—all the pain he had caused, of a foolish bit of ego. 

He sniffed, to hold back tears just a little longer, and finally smelled the tea in his cup. Blinking, he took a sip. It was spicier that his usual, but quite delicious. It reminded Qui-Gon of the tea he had shared on Tatooine, and wondered if the tea was local to Naboo or if it had been made by Anakin himself. The spices gained heat as they sat on his tongue, and filled his chest with a steady warmth. 

“Qui-Gon, do you know what they mean?” Anakin asked. “What happened to Obi-Wan?” 

Qui-Gon looked at Anakin—truly, really looked at him with all his preconceived notions pushed aside, and saw...a boy. An _exceptional_ boy, who had already begun to learn to connect with the Force naturally as breathing. He saw, as well, a _scared_ little boy, who had been pulled around by Fate and and those who believed they knew better. 

People like Qui-Gon. 

He still believed in his heart of hearts that Anakin needed to leave Tatooine, but he was beginning to suspect that the Council was right to turn him away—but not because Anakin was too old for training! No, it was because their teachings would stifle and cripple Anakin’s natural gifts, would foster fear and hurt in the depths of his mind. Take a boy who has known his mother and teach him that attachment is forbidden? No. 

Anakin would need a different approach. 

Qui-Gon lowered his cup. 

“I know what they think,” he said, slowly. “And I know what I suspect. Time will tell us the truth.” 

Anakin folded his arms, and his pout was both mulish and adorable. Qui-Gon wondered which he would grow out of first. “Yeah, but none of that says anything to _me._ ” 

Qui-Gon laughed. “True,” he said. “But it is all I can say for now. When I know for sure, I will tell you what I can.” Anakin sighed, and Qui-Gon his his smile in his tea. “Why don’t you tell me more of what you’ve been up to, instead.” 

After a minute, Anakin nodded, and began to talk.

* * *

Obi-Wan didn’t come that night.

Nor did he come the next three.

* * *

Mace and Yoda were set to remove the block come morning, and Qui-Gon lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling, wondering if there was a way to keep his bond open with Yoda and Mace both and still hide the end of the bond that he still had no wish to dissolve. There was no getting around their presence; they needed to verify both the removal of the block and that the bond no longer existed (or that he, too, didn’t fall). 

He was sorely tempted to leave the medical wing now, as injured as he still was—to find a transport and search. Surely, he and Obi-Wan both could remove the block? 

Between one breath and the next, Obi-Wan was there, as if a spirit summoned from the afterlife. 

Qui-Gon stared, taking him in. Gone were the brown and tan vestments of the Jedi, and in their place a simple pair of black spacers’ pants with many pockets, and a pale blue shirt (the color of his ‘saber blade, Qui-Gon realized). His hair, cut short of his nerftail, his Padawan braid missing, was still that brilliant copper-red, and his eyes were still that changeable blue-green. (A flash of memory; Xanatos’s eyes gone yellow and red, his white skin stark against his black robes). 

All-in-all, Obi-Wan looked nothing like a Sith. 

And yet, even though the block was closed, Qui-Gon could feel him, like a bolt of lighting held frozen in place. 

“They told me you fell,” Qui-Gon said, his voice stronger than during their last meeting. “I didn’t believe them at first.” 

“You should have,” Obi-Wan said, and his eyes flashed that same brilliant gold as before, though he remained still, shining in the darkness. “The Dark hungers, Qui, and I find I’ve grown quite ravenous.”

Qui-Gon licked his lips. “I, too, have known hunger.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened a fraction, and he breathed in sharply. “I am a covetous, greedy man. What I want, I get. What I have, I do not let go.” 

Breath. Beat.

“Help me take down the block,” Qui-Gon said softly, but Obi-Wan balked, shaking his head. 

“I saw what Xanatos’ fall did to you,” he said, and his electric presence seemed to shrink into itself. “I will not do the same. It is better you stay there, and I here.” 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, gritting his teeth in frustration, his words rising to a shout: “They will take it down come morning, and then they will take you from me, fully. I lost one apprentice to the dark, yes, but I will not lose you, too!” 

Silence settled between them as Qui-Gon’s words echoed softly against the white tile. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and it seemed wrong that the room was darker for it. “I do not know that I can come back, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “It was all too easy to fall,” he clutched at his chest, “to _embrace_ the need inside of me... in the end, I’ve seen already far too much—I don’t know that I want to return.” 

The moments around them ticked by, inexorable. It seemed the very fate of the galaxy rested on a precipice. Qui-Gon took a shaky breath, and stepped out into the air. “I never said anything about bringing you back.” 

Obi-Wan looked startled, and then a grin that grew across his features (sharp, wide _hungry_ ), setting Qui-Gon aflame. 

Yes. 

_This_.

Qui-Gon felt a gentle pressure against the block, like someone was leaning casually against it, as if a wall, tapping. So, Qui-Gon pushed back, beating his fists bloody against cold stone, throwing at it all his rage, his fear, his _want_ —and it crumbled away. The link restored, Qui-Gon’s mind was filled with a torrent of _want, keep, have, mine!_

“Yes,” he whispered, feeling the word press the air against his lips. 

When the flow ebbed, Qui-Gon looked out to a darkened room that looked the same, and a future that looked very different. Obi-Wan’s eyes were glowing now a brilliant gold, a color Qui-Gon could still see when he closed his eyes, dragging Obi-Wan into a kiss.

* * *

When they came for Qui-Gon in the morning, they found him missing. It took most of the morning to realize that Anakin was missing as well. For weeks they looked. 

They were never found.

* * *

The Order saw a new statue raised in the Hall of the Slain--a trio of Master, Knight, and Padawan. Better for the young to remember Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin as they could have been, Martyrs for the Light. 

The newly elected Chancellor Palpatine gave his deepest sympathies. 

One night, Dooku quietly left the temple, and never looked back. 

Several years later, reports started to trickle in from the Outer Rim of slave rebellions on worlds such as Kessel, Dandoran, and Tatooine. The Hutts were furious, accusing the Republic of sending their Jedi to stir up trouble, but the Senate denied any such actions. The Hutt Empire was sovereign. The Republic had no authority to authorize the Jedi to travel through Hutt Space. 

Jabba the Hutt, the Hutt Empire’s chosen envoy to the Senate, raged at them and yet presented damning evidence: a security still showing three human forms in shadow against a rising moon, each of them carrying a lit red ‘saber. “Do not play me for a fool!” Jabba warned, pounding his podium with a thick and fleshy hand. 

In their Senate pod, Mace and Yoda shared a look, and felt the future grow dark.


End file.
